I’ve just had a long, involved chat with Hubby, because guess what? Once again, I don’t believe that I really have depression. Once again, I believe that my reliance on Therapist is actually the reason that I’ve continued to have problems over the last couple of years. I worry that this reliance is unhealthy, that it makes me a little bit weird(er), that it’s the root cause of my so called mental health issues. I absolutely, firmly believe this. So, again, I had almost decided that I wouldn’t keep working with her. But, I promised Hubby the last time we were on this particular merry-go-round that I wouldn’t make such a big decision without talking to him about it first. So I did.
As is his wont, he pointed out a few things that may have escaped my attention. Again. I’m a very empathic person. I want to know about people, and I want to help. So for me, being the one who’s always talking but never listening (other than to the therapeutic bits, those I listen to) is hard. I want to know more about her, about what she likes and doesn’t like, what her story is, how she came to be a therapist, what her relationship is like. I’m not entitled to know any of these things, and I know that there’s a reason for this. So why does it continue to cause a problem for me?? The very fact of wanting to know these things makes it so hard for me to keep the boundaries of the counselling relationship clear in my head. Generally, the longer I go without seeing her, the more I want to know, so the break over Christmas has been challenging.
There are other things as well. I think I’ve been doing ok, and certainly having some time off as a family has really helped. But Hubby sees things differently. He agrees with me that the last week or so has been great, I’ve been much more relaxed, but that in general over the last few months I’ve either been detached or too intense, irritable, too full on with the kids or not involved enough, and occasionally on the verge of losing control. He puts the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of medication, there’s been so much chopping and changing. Again, he sees the old familiar pattern – I change meds, and the transition period is particularly tough. Then, things balance out for a while and I’m ok. I walk, I practice yoga, I’m fine at work, happy at home, functioning and enjoying life. But then, one by one, these things start to drop off. I stop practicing. I stop walking. I’m less inclined to be bothered about what we eat. I’m irritable. I question whether or not I actually do have an illness. And finally, I decide that working with Therapist is the root cause of the problem, so really, the best thing to do would be walk away.
And, as I put this in writing, it’s so clear. It’s not Therapist. I rely on her, yes, but it’s the process I rely on. I need her support. Things are still not stable. For the most part, my mind feels like cotton wool, and it’s really hard to think logically. That I definitely blame on the medication. My ideal scenario at this point would be to actually be admitted to hospital with a view to taking me off medication entirely, in a controlled environment, and then starting again, although I’m reasonably sure this won’t be a runner.
I’m to see the psychiatrist again on Tuesday, and hopefully Hubby can come with me. I don’t want to be fobbed off with another ‘wait and see how the next few weeks go’. I’ve been doing that for almost two years now, it’s clearly not working. I’m intensely frustrated. I want more than simply functioning. I want to move beyond the feeling of utter shame at my reliance on Therapist. I want a definite diagnosis and treatment plan. Is that too much to ask for??